Just One More
by jojoDO
Summary: Nearing 50 years old, Paul has left King of Iron Fist behind, but his passion for fighting still remains. But age has begun to take its toll on his weathered body, and he finds himself struggling to win again. He'll stop at nothing, even breaking the greatest taboo, to prove he's still the Toughest in the Universe... but he'll soon learn Father Time is undefeated. (DISCONTINUED)
1. Chapter 1

**This is a rather interesting project of mine, that I've been wanting to do for a while. I'm writing this story to put in perspective the harsh reality of combat sports. It's a cruel, cruel mistress. You start off young, in your prime, rising through the ranks. Next thing you know, you're a champion. You have all the records: most wins, most knockouts, most submissions, most title defenses, etc.**

 **...But one day, you lose it all. Your body stops working the way you want it to. Your chin is so weathered, you can't take a punch anymore. The next thing you know you're in your 40s, still lingering in a sport packed full of powerful, young, hungry studs. But here you still are, and you have nothing left to accomplish. Nothing left to prove. The only purpose you serve is to be fed to the young guys, to be a victim on their highlight reel. I've had to watch some of my favorite MMA fighters go on horrible lose streaks: 3,4, even 5 or 6 losses in a row. I used to watch them as a kid and think they were unstoppable.**

 **But what happens when you still won't quit? You will your tired, beat-up body into the ring once more, still hoping for a return to the glory days?**

 **This is Paul Phoenix's story. This is the story of how he refused to quit, and how the choices he made impacted his life greatly. Enjoy.**

Just one more.

As the pillar-haired blonde sat on the broken wooden stool of the dumpy locker room, he looked down into his own fists, clenching them so hard the veins protruded underneath his signature dark gloves.

Lefty and Righty... the artist's tools. The symbols, that defined who he was as a person. Without them, who was Paul Phoenix? Without the ability to smash solid rock or fell a grizzly bear with one body punch... was he even alive? Was he even a real person? Did he ever exist to begin with?

As Paul stared long and deep into the two companions that had seen him through many conflicts, the locker room door opened abruptly with a slam against the tiled wall.

"You're up, Phoenix." a gruff, New Zealand accent declared.

A stern expression formed on his stubbled face, exposing every subtle little crease and crevasse of his aged skin.

He got to his feet, turning and looking into the mirror above the sink one last time, to get a good, long glimpse at himself...

...The years had not been kind to him. Decades of fighting in the King of Iron Fist Tournament, fighting every manner of man, machine, supernatural gods and deities, even intelligent animals bred for combat. Paul Phoenix had never missed a single tournament; he always participated, and he always made it far. There was no ignorance to be had about the legend of his fighting prowess.

But things were different now. 49 years... that's a long time to be alive. Seems even longer when you make a career out of getting beaten half to death. After losing terribly in the last one, The King of Iron Fist Tournament was now a distant memory. Paul was reduced to the bush leagues now, fighting amateurs for peanuts. It wasn't an ideal career... but it was the only thing he's good at. Despite everything, Paul never lost his taste for combat. Fighting was still his passion, his one true love.

And most importantly... he never lost his fiery ambition to be the toughest in the universe.

"Showtime." he says to the mirror, the only thing missing his cheesy grin of old. The time for grinning was over: he hadn't earned the right to smile anymore. He only smiled when he was on top of the world. Right now... he couldn't have been further away.

"LADIIIIIIIIIIES AAAAAND GENTLEMEN!" an enthusiastic, amusing voice declared. "WE ARE COMING AT YOU LIIIIIIIVE! FROM UNDERGROUND KINGS 42: PHOENIX VS STEINER!"

As Paul came out of the locker room, donning his signature red gi that had been a part of him since he first fought professionally, a myriad of cheers erupted around him. He looked around, at all the excited faces eagerly awaiting his pain. These people weren't cheering for his success: they were just happy to see someone of name value fighting. If he lost everything else in the world... at least he'd always be Paul Phoenix, the once-legend.

Paul made it to the ring, and he got a good glimpse of the guy standing in front of him. He was a young guy. Good shape. Looks like he could handle a football. Blonde hair, a little bit of chin fuzz. Gray jeans, boots, a black leather jacket. If nothing else, Paul liked this kid's style.

...But there was one thing that stood out. Paul could see it, in his intensely focused eyes. The look... the look of hunger. This kid wanted to win, and he wanted it BAD. His face exuded such a bloodlust: a bloodlust that Paul knew all too well. He himself had experienced this same thirst for victory, many years ago. He remembered the time he fought Kazuya Mishima: Paul had those same eyes. Seeing it in this kid's face made him feel nostalgic.

"AND NOW! IT'S TIME! FOR THE MAAAAAAIN EVENT OF THE EVENING!" the boisterous announcer exclaimed. He turns and points his finger at Paul.

"FIGHTING OUT OF THE RED CORNER! This man is a true combat legend, with an extensive career that dates back to the very first King of Iron Fist Tournament! A Judo Fighter with his own personal touch, this man is a fighting veteran of over 20 years. INTRODUCING... PAUL... PHOEEEEEENIIIIIIXXXXXXXXXXX!"

Paul threw his fist up, eyes closed, drinking in the explosion of yells and cheers that rattled his ears. Yes... this was his life. This is what he lived for. The years can go by and by... but the sweet sound of cheering voices can never lose its luster.

"AND NOW! FIGHTING OUT OF THE BLUE CORNER! This aggressive young athlete has amateur wrestling and street fighting experience! Hailing from Green Hill... INTRODUCING... ALEEEEEEEEEEEX... STEEEEEEEINEEEEEERRRRRR!"

Like a predator sizing up his next mark, Alex Steiner never once took his eyes off of Paul. This kid was for real; he was going to bring it, and bring it hard.

DING! DING!

Paul sprinted forward, pressing the initiative. He wasn't going to give him a second to breathe. Drawing his fist back, he prepared to unleash his mighty fist... a fist that was once feared by all. A fist that could penetrate even the sturdiest of foundations.

"UUUUUUUUWWAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

With his hearty battle cry, Paul unleashed his fist into the stomach of Alex; he could have sworn he felt the ground rumble from his sheer power.

"OUUF!" a huge gust exhaled from Alex's lungs as he hunched over, visibly damaged by the punch.

Alex's feet skidded backwards several yards... but he didn't go down.

"What?!" Paul muttered under his breath

Paul stared in disbelief as Alex pressed forward, a threatening growl in his throat. That's impossible... Paul put every last ounce of his strength into that blow. It was his most powerful attack! If this kid can take that and still stand...!

Alex unleashed a spinning clothesline, which Paul was easily able to duck under. The kid stumbled after throwing it; his striking was incredibly sloppy. Paul countered with a low kick to his knee, bending his leg at the joint. The blonde kid buckled from the attack, dropping to one knee. He was hurt! Now's Paul's chance!

...But the amateur wrestler had other plans. As Paul tried to close in on him, Alex turned back around and dived for Paul's legs. He pushed forward and secured them in his arms, bringing Paul's legs close together. Paul tried to spread them, in vain; this kid's strength was immense!

"Shit...!" Paul hissed as he felt his body leave the ground. Alex lifted him high; so high, his knees were above Alex's head.

SLAM!

The very earth shook from the force of Alex putting Paul on his back. Paul immediately felt the strength from his muscles leave him all at once. His body was a puppet; a lifeless plate of gelatin, incapable of preventing Alex from crawling on top of him and smothering him.

Alex postured up and began raining fists on Paul's face. Paul raised his arms up in vain, as each blow from Alex broke through and rattled him. Every blunt impact sent his brain awry, his vision blurry, before the colors all returned a second later, only to go fuzzy again. He was in a bad spot; he had to break out... somehow...

Paul kept calm and took deep breaths. He started by grabbing Alex's arms and pulling him down onto his chest, quickly hugging his neck and preventing his body from lifting back up. Now that Alex was stopped, he began working on getting his legs back. Little by little he slid them upwards, slipping past the wriggling Alex's body... one knee... two knees... until he had full use of his legs again. Perfect!

Now distancing Alex with his feet, Paul utilized his Judo base and threw his legs around the kid's dominant arm. Using his seized limb for leverage, Paul was able to throw the kid off of him and reverse position into a classic armbar. Legs draped over his shoulder, arms pulling back furiously against Alex's trapped appendage. Paul strained, grunting audibly as he pulled with all his might in an attempt to complete it. But second by second passed, and he could feel his strength draining... the lactic acid filled his muscles, making exertion harder and harder... and STILL the kid wouldn't tap.

Eventually, Paul could feel his grip slipping away. Alex was getting back to his feet, pretty much carrying Paul's weight effortlessly. He got to one knee, followed by another knee, then pushed upwards to his feet. Paul continued to crank on his arm, hoping and praying he'd tap... but that was far from the case.

Using his trapped arm, Alex lifted Paul high and slammed him against the ground, making the older man finally lose his grip. The strapping young lad took this opportunity to rest his arm, while Paul lay on the ground and writhed in agony. His muscles were tired, his body aching, his head spinning. Everyone in the club thought he was done.

...But Paul proved them wrong. Grunting, wheezing, he pushed himself back upright. He got back to his feet and shook his head, clearing the cobwebs. It would take more than this to put him out! After the opponents Paul has faced in this lifetime, Alex Steiner was child's play!

"I'M NUMBER ONE!" Paul growled, pointing his finger menacingly at Alex, as if to call him out. Immediately, the club shook with the thunderous cheers of spectators. And for a split second... Paul felt 20 years younger.

Alex growled, getting back into stance. "I'm gonna take you down, old man! LET'S GO!"

Both of them charged at full speed, neither backing down. There wasn't a single person sitting down.

"HYAAH!" Paul kiai'd as he raised his arm and threw down a hammer fist, colliding with the top of Alex's skull. The blonde kid stumbled backwards and dropped to one knee, but he didn't go down. Paul tried to close in on him, but Alex twisted around and threw a spinning back kick to Paul's stomach. Paul sucked in air as he hunched over... and it felt like inhaling pure fire in his lungs.

Alex drew his fist back and came forward with a brutal haymaker, throwing his entire body into it. Paul took advantage of his green striking technique, dropping to his back and easily sending Alex's body flying with a Judo foot launch. Paul sprang back to his feet and spun around, just in time to sense Alex closing in one again. He recovered from that throw faster than expected!

Alex tried to throw a left hook, but Paul closed in and pressed his body against him, shoulder to shoulder, and swept his foot out from under him. Paul bent his body forward, sticking his right foot out to balance himself, and sent Alex plummeting to the ground with a shove. As soon as Alex landed on his back, Paul tried to dive on top of him, but the much stronger kid easily pushed Paul off of him and the two of them scrambled to their feet.

Paul drew his elbow back and unleashed it like a ballista into the soft flesh of Alex's stomach. Alex recoiled, and Paul followed up with a straight right to his face. Alex took the full force of it and was sent stumbling on his back foot. Paul's striking was simply decades more experienced than his own.

Alex shook his head and cursed, putting his fists back up. Paul could feel his body warming up; that same blood-tingling feeling one gets when they get anxious. Their heart starts to beat. Their insides feel like a microwave. Victory was right around the corner for Paul Phoenix, and he was excited. This thrill... almost like the thrill he felt when he was one punch away from finishing Ogre.

Paul closed in and threw a vicious overhand right. Alex took the force of it on his temple and was brought to his knees... but Paul's lower body was wide open. The pillar-haired blonde cursed with annoyance as Alex brought his arms around his waist and sent him to the ground. Luckily for Paul, he was just on his butt, so he was able to scoot backwards and push up with his hands and feet until he was upright again. But the experienced wrestler was still locked firmly around him... and that was a dangerous position for Paul to be in.

Paul was simply too tired to repel the stronger, younger man, and he was once again lifted high above Alex's head. Alex pushed with his feet and flopped backwards like a domino, suplexing Paul hard against the ground. Alex's head was cushioned from the impact by pressing against the older man's stomach; the force of his skull impacting against Paul's ribs only served to further inflict pain on the veteran fighter.

As Paul coughed and wheezed with pain, Alex twisted around so he could once again achieve top position and smother him. He pressed against Paul's knee to pin him down and began raining fists to the side of his head.

This was it... Paul was done... NO!

Paul screamed with lung-burning fury as he rolled forward to break out of Alex's grasp. He managed to get just enough distance to spring back up to his feet, while Alex was forced to scramble up to his own feet.

Ever relentless, Paul lunged forward with a nasty punch to the stomach. As Alex took the full force and hunched over, Paul drew his elbow back and sent it UPWARDS at a 90 degree angle, uppercutting Alex in the chin with the very tip.

He... he went down! He actually went down!

Before Paul could scream with victory, Alex got back up to his feet. Paul was smart enough to know not to celebrate prematurely; he had already made that mistake once in his life. It was one time too many. But his chances were looking great; Alex was no match for Paul's striking, and Paul had just knocked him on his back with a powerful blow. His head must still be spinning... time to finish this!

Paul charged forward, intending to throw a punch and end it now. He knew not to throw a kick, as Alex could easily wrestle him down. Instead, he drew his fist back and prepared to unleash it in Alex's gut to send him to his knees!

But Alex knew what he had to do to win. He knew he was stronger, and Paul was tired. He wasn't about to suffer the humiliation of losing to someone nearly twice his age.

Alex stopped Paul in his tracks with a boot to his stomach, right on his belt line. The kick was just high enough not to be declared a groin shot. He took advantage of the jarred Paul and tackled him, putting him in the clinch. This was just where he wanted him.

Paul was sent stumbling backwards as he danced with the younger man, whose strength was enabling him to easily control Paul's movements. He had his arms firmly underneath Paul's armpits, making it impossible for Paul to get underneath Alex's arms and pry him off. Paul was trapped, unable to even control where his own feet went. Alex controlled him easily, with his superior power.

...It was at this moment that Paul began to realize how much he had truly weakened. That moment... almost like a revelation. As he stumbled all over the arena, firmly in Alex's grasp, he began to question how he could have gotten to this point. Once upon a time he...

...That was just it. "Once upon a time". The four words that sustained him. People like Paul Phoenix, their legacy could only live on based on those words. For him, there were no new stories to write, no new exploits to be sang of. There was only the past... and that's where his heart currently resided.

Alex pulled down on Paul's body, bending his back forward until his midsection was exposed. And then came the knees... one knee, and Paul sucked in venomous air. Two knees, and he could no longer breathe. Three knees, and Paul's legs buckled.

And finally... a fourth knee. The last thing Paul saw was it coming straight towards his face. And then... darkness.

"ALEX STEINER KNOCKS OUT PAUL PHOENIX! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT FOLKS!" the announcer screams into the microphone, trying desperately to match his voice with the booming echo of the crowd.

It took about a minute to return to consciousness. Paul's eyes opened, and he looked around; all he could see was the ceiling, and a young man looking over him.

"Time to retire, pops." was his only words as he turned and walked away.

Paul could see officials coming over to try and help him up... but he simply ignored them. He just laid there, allowing the doctors to check him out without even really acknowledging their presence. He WANTED to lay there, to wallow in pity, to fulfill his true purpose of laying lifelessly in the sand like the fossil he is. If he never got to his feet again, this would be a suitable fate for him.

This was his legacy now... Paul Phoenix, a relic of the past, futilely seeking purpose in the present.

 **Oh yeah, Urban Reign characters will be making a cameo in this fic. Because what else are the colorful, diverse characters of Namco's 2005 beat-em-up good for?**

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	2. Chapter 2

Just one more...?

The morning after was always the hardest. After clearing concussion protocol, you get to sleep like a baby that night. An almost eternal sleep, like death finally coming to claim you. Your muscles relax, your conscience clears... your brain and all its negative thoughts shut down.

...But then you wake up. The pain and injuries flood to your body, your nervous system screams with agony as you ache all over. Almost as bad as the physical is the mental: the hurt of losing another fight. Another reminder that you're past your prime... that the sport has left you behind and the fans who once flocked to you only shake their heads in pity when you enter the ring.

This was Paul's reality. Every morning was a deeper plunge into the pit of acceptance and resignation. Would this be the one that broke him? Maybe the world of hand-to-hand combat was better off without Paul Phoenix...

...But this wasn't how he wanted to go out. He wanted to win one more... just one more...

Paul was currently in the bathroom, splashing water on his face to fully awaken him from another sluggish, uneventful morning. Every once in a while he would raise his head from its downright position to look upon his pathetic mug in the mirror. Sometimes, he would imagine someone else was staring back at him: someone who's a winner. Someone who, once upon a time, could devoutly follow the religion of martial arts and have that faith rewarded. Paul would give anything to see that reflection in the mirror once more.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

A burst fire of knuckle against the wood of the door snapped Paul out of his stupor. He didn't get many visitors; there was only a select few guesses as to who it could be. As Paul groaned and stepped out of his bathroom, walking through the living room towards the front door... there was one name above the rest that he wished to see.

Paul opened the door... and that person was standing before him: a man a few inches shorter than himself, sporting a pitch black bowl cut. His rugged face wore a black stubble, along with a neatly groomed mustache that rested just on each corner of his lips. His appearance bore no illusion of youth, for he too had seen decades and decades of violence in The King of Iron Fist Tournament, right alongside Paul.

"So how do I look?" were Paul's first words to the man, which were met by a smug grin.

"You look like you're ready for a centerfold." was his response, followed by a consoling hand on Paul's shoulder.

He was Paul's wingman. His confidant. His closest friend and most trusted ally. A man he would take a blade to the chest for. He wished he could smile upon seeing him... but those positive emotions were far beyond his realm.

"...Come on in, Marshall. You want a beer?"

"Yeah, that's cool."

Paul closed the door behind his old friend as the man called Law settled down on his couch, stretching his weary muscles with a long groan.

"Unnngh... man, it hurts just waking up in the morning." Law groaned.

"Yeah... I feel ya." Paul grunted as he walked back into the living room, two beers in hand. He tossed one to Law and then got cozy in his recliner. As they popped the tops off in unison, Law was the one to finally break the ice.

"...I heard about your recent fight."

"Yeah? Who didn't..." Paul scoffed.

Law took a sip. "That f***ing kid... he ran through you, huh?"

"Yeah... he was strong as shit. I couldn't keep him off me. Kid threw me around like I was a f***in laundry basket."

Law could tell Paul was trying to be lighthearted, judging from the tone in his voice. That was Paul's defense mechanism; play the serious stuff off with a joke. But Law didn't come here to joke around; he had a message for Paul. After a moment of silence passed between them, Law finally opened his mouth.

"...How much longer are you gonna keep this up?"

Paul stuck to his facade, choosing to play dumb. "What do you mean?"

That angered Law enough to raise his voice. "You know what I mean, man! How much longer are you gonna take years off your f***ing life fighting these killers!"

"...I need the money."

Law forcefully set down his beer. "Oh don't give me that shit. You're not making anywhere close to a living doing what you're doing right now. You'd make more going back to being hired muscle for big mucks."

Paul finally shed his defense and fired back. "Oh what do you f***ing know about making a living? You don't even have pennies in your couch cushion!"

Law slammed his hand against the leather, making a loud SLAP. "Don't you talk to me like that, Paul. I mean it."

An awkward moment of silence passed between them as Paul slowly hung his head down. He had lost his cool... maybe they both did for a second.

"...I'm sorry."

Just as quickly as Paul cooled down, Law responded much softer as well. He leaned in, making close eye contact to show he was genuine.

"Look, man... I know better than anyone about trying to earn a buck. I'm a survivor. Day to day, supporting a wife and kid with jobs that a homeless person would consider winning the lottery. That's why I know you're not doing this for the money. You can't bullshit me, man. You're doing it for your stupid pride."

Paul looked away from him, his face devoid of anger... or any emotion besides indifference.

"...So what if I am. At least it's a reason to wake up in the morning. At least I still have something to fight for. I'm not complacent to just spend the rest of my years bagging groceries. I'm a FIGHTER, Marshall. That's who I am."

Law shook his head and sighed. "...Our fighting days are well past us, buddy. You know it."

Those last words let to a small moment of silence, a few dejected sighs sprinkled in between the two disgruntled veterans. Neither one was happy with their present... but at least Paul wasn't laying back and accepting it. In his mind, Law was being a quitter and HE was the one still fighting the good fight. Of course, he didn't want to hurt the feelings of his best friend by telling him that to his face... so instead, he lightened the moment by speaking of better days.

"Ah... what happened to us Marshall? We used to be top of the food chain. These young punks today, they just don't know. There wasn't a martial artist in the WORLD that didn't respect us. The fear on their faces when they stood in front of us, man..."

Law gave a little chuckle. "Heh... we used to always make it close, my man. We were always so damn close..."

"Heh, speak for yourself. I freaking won the third one!"

"...You did not."

"Did so."

"Buddy, are we gonna keep coming around to this same discussion? Give it a rest already. You f***ed up."

"Alright, fine! Hmph... still won though..."

That little exchange led to another little quiet moment. Though the situation had been alleviated a bit, there was still the unspoken matter: the whole reason Law came over in the first place. Paul knew he would address it any second now... but he wasn't going to give him the chance. He had to make Law understand... so he opened his mouth first.

"...Marshall."

"Hm?"

"I'm not quitting."

Law looked at him, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Paul leaned in closer, making eye contact to emphasize the sincerity of his words.

"My purpose in life is to be the toughest fighter in the universe. It's my dream. It's my passion. I'm going to pursue that, until the day I die. Even if it kills me, I'll die fighting."

"Paul..."

"I don't care if you think I'm too old, or too shot, or anything. I know I can still win! I can still be number 1! You can lay back and enjoy your retirement, but I'm not stopping. I'm not stopping until God himself respects my fists."

That was enough for Law. With a grunt of annoyance, he rose to his feet abruptly.

"You're delusional, man. Fine. Keep fighting. Push your body, until it just stops. I did my part. If you end up getting yourself killed, it won't be on my hands."

Not even giving Paul the courtesy of a response, Law stormed off with a slam of the front door.

Paul let out a long, tired sigh, bringing a hand up to massage his forehead. That wasn't how he wanted things to go... but it was inevitable. Marshall simply didn't understand. Nobody did. Paul HAS to fight; it's in his blood. Without his ambition to become the toughest in the universe... Paul Phoenix is just a 50 year old man with brain damage.

...It wasn't going to end like this. Paul was going to win again. He was going to win it all.

"...I'll show you, Marshall. I'll show everyone. Paul Phoenix is the toughest fighter in the universe."


	3. Chapter 3

Paul still frequented his local gym. At least there, he still held some semblance of admiration from the other gym-goers who still got that little sparkle in their eyes when Paul Phoenix himself walked through those doors.

Right now, Paul was attempting to recapture his youth on the weight-lifting equipment. He had a handle in each hand, connected to two strong cables which contained 500 lbs on each side. He would bring both of his arms inwards, close to his chest until he was making a hugging gesture, then open his arms wide once again. Over and over he repeated this maneuver, as the fire began to course inside his biceps.

"Hnnf! Hnnf! Hnnf! Hnnf!"

The sweat rolled down his head as Paul grit his teeth and kept working, with no ceiling or limitation in mind. But already, he could feel it... the agony of his muscles crying out, begging to be released from their pain. With each passing second, his grip loosened and loosened. His arms burned until they were numb, wobbling like gelatin. The more he felt his arms slip, the harder he clenched. He was red in the face, every ounce of his strength clinging desperately to this one moment.

"Cmon Paul... you... f***..." he hissed aloud.

But it was no use. With one last defeated gasp, Paul let go of the handles and the equipment rested in place. His arms immediately fell to his sides, dead as he collapsed against the chair.

"Huff... huff... huff..." his pants were long, drawn out, weak, pathetic... it was the shortest he had ever lasted.

Paul was grateful there was no mirror nearby, so he didn't have to look at his loser face. He only worried about the judgement of others in the room; were they watching him? Were they laughing, mocking his weakness? Perhaps they were turning their heads in shame, as they thought of a different, younger time when Paul was king of the dumbbells.

As Paul looked around, conscious about judgmental eyes... he saw none. No... they had all gathered somewhere else.

Curious, Paul willed his tired body off of the equipment and slowly trudged over to where the gym-goers had gathered. As soon as he came into view, immediately he noticed what was no doubt the star of the show.

Her blonde hair was in a ponytail, a tight, form-fitting purple sports bra on her torso, hugging her chest and emphasizing her curves. A pair of tight black yoga pants resided on her lower half, molding so perfectly to her legs and glutes. Despite her slender frame, her muscles rippled as she deadlifted the 300 lb barbell in front of her.

"HNFF! HNFF! HNFF! HNFF!"

The spectators gazed with admiration at her strength and grace, her aesthetically pleasing female form sweaty and scantily clad and undergoing strenuous activity. Yes... there were two celebrities in this gym today. One looked a whole lot better than the other.

Paul hung his head; he couldn't look at her anymore out of shame... and his seething envy. This woman was Nina Williams... the woman who cheated Father Time. She was a 40 year old in a smoking hot 20 year old body. She was everything Paul longed for, admired, coveted... and hated.

Nina Williams... there was a time long ago, when she and Paul both fought together in the very first King of Iron Fist Tournament. He had always thought she was so beautiful... did she look at him the same way? If she once did... she didn't now. This revelation hurt Paul even deeper; the realization that he had gone on ahead, and Nina stayed behind. Now, he was nothing to her: no more than a stranger, occupying the same space. She got to stay young and beautiful, with her whole life ahead of her... while his was on the down slope.

Nina finally exhaled and let go of the heavy barbell, letting it fall to the ground as she flicked her hair and walked away to a volley of cheers. Paul couldn't help but look one more time; his brow furrowed with anger at the men ogling her, worshiping her youth and appearance. Nina Williams was a goddess to them... and what was he?

Paul plopped down on a bench and guzzled an energy drink, deciding that his exercise day was over before it began. He just didn't feel like it now, especially knowing that Nina was here and everyone was paying attention to her. Seeing Nina just made him feel worse about himself, and further invalidate his status as a fighter.

He was so absorbed in his self-loathing that he didn't even notice Nina approach the bench. It wasn't until she opened her mouth that he finally noticed.

"Heard about your recent fight."

Paul was snapped out of his trance by her sudden words; as soon as he looked up, she was already sitting down right next to him. His heart rate began to quicken ever slightly; he had to train his eyes not to stare at her cleavage or her sexy abdomen with beads of sweat rolling down it...

"What are you doing in USA?" Paul responded, trying to play it cool.

"You don't want to know. I'd have to-"

"You'd have to kill me." Paul finished, a little smirk on his face.

Nina nodded in agreement. "Yes."

They sat in silence for a minute, since Nina wasn't much of a conversationalist and Paul didn't know how to talk to her. Thankfully, Nina finally broke the silence and spared Paul from having to do it.

"You still keeping up with your training?"

Paul folded his arms. "Yeah... I see you are too. Too bad I didn't have a freezing chamber to help me, so I'm a little slower these days."

Nina rolled her eyes slightly. "Jealous?"

Paul tried to keep his cool, but already he was losing it. "I don't see why you had to come to my gym and show me up!"

"It's not like that... I didn't know you trained here." Nina defended.

"Yeah, well now you know. So why don't you take your perfect 20 year old ass somewhere else, and leave me be?" Paul spat.

Nina surprisingly kept her cool. "Why are you so angry? Did I offend you in some way?"

Paul got off of the bench. "Yeah, your presence offends me! How do you think it makes me feel, knowing that 20 years ago we both were in the King of Iron Fist Tournament together... and now look at us. You found the fountain of f***ing youth. You get to stay just like you were, and carry on like it was just yesterday! And me... I just... gaaaaah!"

"Paul... cool it." Nina soothed. She reached over and took his hand, gently guiding him back onto the bench. The enraged pillar-haired blonde stopped to regain his breath for a second, before the silence was broken by Nina again.

"I didn't choose this life. If I could've switched places with you, I would have. But that's just the way life goes. It's not a boon, trust me."

Paul turned his head away. "Yeah... well maybe I would appreciate it more than you ever could."

Nina shook her head. "Paul... one day you're going to learn that it's impossible to fight against fate. And for you... I'm afraid the only way you'll learn is the hard and painful way."

"You know, Marshall tried to tell me that too." Paul responded. "I could hear it 1000 more times, and I still won't care. I'm going to keep fighting for what I believe in, and I don't need some stupid cryosleep to help me. I'm not going to take the easy path, like you did!"

Nina finally heard enough. With a scowl, she rose to her feet and started to walk away. But before she could get far, she turned around one more time.

"I used to respect you greatly, Paul. And it wasn't for your looks, or your power, or fighting ability. You used to have a pure, unshakable heart. But now, you've mistaken heart for foolish, pigheaded pride. I would admire you even more today if you made the right choice for yourself."

With those last words, Nina Williams walked away... perhaps walking out of his life forever.

Paul angrily rose back to his feet, storming off back to his weight-lifting equipment. With a sigh, he plopped back in the chair and grabbed the two handles.

"Come on you bastard! COME ON!" he motivated himself as he began lifting the 500 lb payloads once again.

"Hnnf! Hnnf! HUUGH! HUUUGH! HUUUUGH! HUUU- AHHHH! DAMMIT!"

But it was over in seconds. Before he even had a chance to warm up, his arms gave out on him and he let go. All he could do was fall to his knees and pound the floor in misery.

"DAMMIT! WHY WHY WHYYY!"

He closed his eyes tight as an angry tear or two formed on his tightly sealed eyelids. Why? Why was he so weak? Why couldn't his body just work the way he commanded it to? Perhaps Nina was right... perhaps there really is no fighting fate...

But STILL, even now... the message didn't get through to Paul. He rose back to his feet, as if refusing to accept defeat. In his stubborn, deluded mind, NOTHING was going to break him down. There was always a way... and he already had an idea in his mind.

"Paul... what are you thinking right now...?" he muttered to himself as he went to the locker room and gathered his belongings. Quietly and discreetly, he exited the gym and headed for a pharmacy.

Maybe he wasn't thinking clearly right now. He was a desperate man, and everyone knows that terrible, rash decisions can be made in the heat of desperation. But despite that, his legs were still moving forward. He was on his way to a pharmacy right now, nothing in his heart but the desire to strike a blow against fate. He wanted his strength back... one way or another.

He entered the pharmacy, walked right up to the counter and slammed his fist down to get everyone's attention.

"Listen up! I'm Paul Phoenix... and I need your help."

A pharmacist in a white coat approached the counter and gave a smile.

"Mr. Phoenix! I'm a big fan. What can I get for you today sir?"

Paul closed his eyes and massaged his temple. Now that he was here... he was starting to consider the gravity of the situation. What the hell was he doing right now? He was about to cross a line: a sacred, dark line that resides for all athletes that ever had the heart of competition. If he went through with this, and anyone found out... he would be shamed for the rest of his life.

What was most important: getting his old body back... or the admiration of his fans? Right then and there, Paul Phoenix had to make a choice. And a choice he made.

"I need something to, uh... help me... with my exercise. I need something to give me a little... boost." Paul softly stated, raising an eyebrow.

"U-um... like, protein shakes?"

"No."

"Um... supplements?"

"I need something more... potent. I'm talking... the very back of the store."

The pharmacist finally put it all together. "O-OH! Uhh... well, I'd be happy to show you all of our approved substances. U-um, are you looking for oral pills, injectible...?"

"Pills! G-gimme pills." Paul demanded.

"V-very well sir. Please wait here."

The man exited into the back of the store, leaving Paul there to ponder things a bit longer. Was he REALLY about to make this choice? This was a fundamental, life-changing decision he was about to make. It was a gamble; he was risking not only his reputation, but his very health, by going through with this.

Despite these risks... Paul Phoenix still didn't back down. He was going to dive headfirst into the fire, and burn if he will.

"Here. This is Oxandrolone." the pharmacist declared, handing Paul a plastic white bottle emblazoned with the long word. "It helps build muscle, and you don't have to worry about hepatotoxicity, or liver damage. But still, I want you to be aware that this could put your health at risk with frequent use."

Paul grabbed the bottle and scanned it carefully; there were so many big words! Were those... side effects? Holy shit! This was like a half-loaded revolver, and he was about to put the barrel to his temple. This could make or break him... did he really want to do this?

"...I'll take it."

"A-are you sure?"

"Just ring it up!" Paul blurted. "A-and be cool about it..."

"O-okay..."

The pharmacist bagged it for him, and Paul quickly left the store, going all the way home without stopping.

When he was finally alone, in his house, Paul sank to the floor and held the bottle against his forehead. Now that he was by himself and comfy, the reality of it all began to sink in. Here was Paul Phoenix, with a bottle of steroids in his hand.

"God, what am I doing... what am I doing..."

The weight of it all made him want to sob. For it to come to THIS... he truly had fallen far. It wasn't fair, that his life had to end up like this, while Nina gets to go on living a young, healthy life.

...But there was no other way. He couldn't deny it; his body was failing him. This was his only edge; the only card he had left to play. Without these pills, he would never return to his former glory.

Without even thinking, Paul unscrewed the cap and popped two of the pills into his mouth. That was it; the line was officially crossed. There was no going back for Paul Phoenix now. Repercussions and judgement would come in due time. But for right now... it was time to get his strength back.


End file.
